


words are knives and often leave scars

by myownliberation



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, based heavily on the isle of the lost prequel book, i started writing this over a year ago and never finished, if you're expecting mal and jay to have a happily ever after it's not that kind of story, it references it a lot so if you haven't read it you might be a little lost?, mal is an emotionally constipated gremlin i hate her, set before d1 when they're still on the isle if it wasn't clear, so i figured i should at least post some of it now, they don't end up Together because mal is terrible but things sort of work out anyways, they're teenagers on hell island and they swear a lot fight me on this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-05 00:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17314658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myownliberation/pseuds/myownliberation
Summary: The problem is, Jay has no idea what he’s doing or why he’s doing it. The problem is, Mal doesn’t ever want to push him away but she can’t disappoint her mother either and she’s never been any good at compromise. The problem is, in a fairytale the prince would kiss the princess and they’d live happily ever after, but on this island of sinners and thrown away things, a prince of thieves kisses a princess of darkness and all it gets him is spiteful words and all it gets her is heartache.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Like I mentioned in the tags, I wrote the first two and a half chapters of this over a year ago, but I just never finished it so I never posted it. But since it's based heavily on the Isle of the Lost prequel novel and D3 is looming on the horizon looking like it's gonna _obliterate_ the books' canon lmao, I figured I should post this before my fic gets obliterated with it.

    Jay’s stomach rumbles as he traces his way through the familiar shadows of all the forgotten alleys and and unwatched side streets that make up his well-worn path to the Bargain Castle, but he’s too busy mentally cataloguing his haul for the day to pay it much mind. The whole point of going to see Mal is to filch some of her food, anyways, so his hunger isn’t more pressing than making sure he has a decent enough score to dodge another shouting match with his dad.

    He counts his acquisitions by the sounds of their clinks in his pockets, by the weight and feel of them where they press against his skin in any place he’d found to tuck them, trying to gauge if they’re enough.

    A charm bracelet he’d snagged off of one of the step-granddaughters from school—with enough polishing and a gullible enough customer, they can probably pass the cheap metal off for real silver. A somewhat grimy tricorn hat he’d triumphantly snagged off of Harry Hook’s head before he even saw Jay coming, with a real, if somewhat battered, feather sticking to the brim—and Jafar can still be scary when he wants, so Harry will have no choice but to pay a decent price for it back. (Unless someone else buys it before Harry can reclaim it, a concept Jay finds equally hilarious.) A chipped and battered teacup gilded with real gold leaf, the only gold Jay’s ever seen in his life, even if it’s almost entirely worn away—it’d be worth more in a set, or with at least half the gilding not rubbed and chipped off, but the only gold he knows of on the island has to be worth something, however little of it there is. About a dozen other almost-worthless trinkets and baubles.

    So, is that going to be enough for his dad? A vaguely shiny teacup isn’t exactly the nonexistent big score that his dad’s still looking for, but it’s his best find in a long, long time, so he guesses it’ll have to be enough.

    He’s so wrapped up in his appraisal of his day’s work that he doesn’t notice the shouting at first, not until he’s close enough to recognize the infuriated, venomous voice leaking through Mal’s cracked window on the balcony above as Maleficent’s. He stops in his tracks, a healthy dose of fear trickling through his veins before he slinks a little further into the shadows, even knowing that he’s already well out of the sight and awareness of the pissed off, malevolent fairy who rules the island. Anyone with even the smallest amount of self preservation skills would be eager to remain out of Maleficent’s focus when she’s fired up, and he’s been pretty damn good at keeping himself alive and unscathed for a pretty damn long time by now.

    Even straining his ears as hard as he can, he can’t make out any of what the tyrannical woman’s shouting, but he finds that he can just barely pick up on Mal’s voice as she tries to protest. Whatever’s going down between the mother and daughter just then, it sounds _bad,_ and he’s always been more cautious than curious—this isn’t any of his business, and he doesn’t want any part in it. He can come back tomorrow morning to try to get her mind off of it, but before then? Count him _out._

    Of course, no sooner does he decide that than the sound of Mal’s bedroom door slamming booms through the slightly opened window, and it’s not a moment later that Mal is suddenly shoving her window open and climbing out in a flurry of forceful, rough movements. Jay watches as her backlit silhouette half-stumbles to the parapet of her balcony in an apparent rush to put as much distance between herself and the argument as possible, slamming her hands down onto the stone and hanging her head.

    Jay worries his bottom lip between his teeth, weighing the odds that he’s missed his chance to bounce, and avoid this whole situation.

    But it’s not like Mal knows that he’s here, and he knows his skillset well enough to know that he can get just about anywhere without being spotted— _anywhere_ including _away_ from this highly awkward, messy scene. He edges a foot back the way he came, then starts another step away as he turns—

    The problem with his plan is, Jay wasn’t counting on how distracted seeing Mal like this—so completely opposite from cool and collected in a way that she doesn’t even get when she’s _well_ and _truly_ furious—would make him, and while he was counting on not being spotted, he wasn’t thinking hard enough about not being _heard._

    All it takes is one movement that’s slightly too quick, and he finds himself wincing as the teacup in his pocket clinks against a tiny mint tin which clinks against a plastic brooch which clinks against the step-granddaughter’s charm bracelet—and when he freezes in place, they all take the opportunity to jangle together merrily.

    It’s a precise little chain reaction of _fuck you, Jay,_ and he watches as Mal’s head snaps up and swivels to look towards the shadows in his direction. _Well, shit._ He’s officially in the awkward, messy scene now.

        “Jay?” she practically demands into the dark, and the choked, unsteady sound of her voice sends ice spiking into his veins—because Mal doesn’t sound like that, Mal _never_ sounds like whatever the hell _that_ is, so whatever just went down with her mom must have been _bad_. _Really_ bad, and now she knows he’s here, so there’s no creeping back into the shadows to pretend he’d never seen or heard any of this. Unless she decides she was just hearing things—

    An impatient huff pierces the silence above him and cuts off his thought, and Mal’s voice is still uneven when she snaps, “Are you coming up or not?”

    Honestly, at this point, he doesn’t know why he ever expects to get away with _anything_ when it comes to Mal; she knows him, and his habits, way too well. He reconsiders his option to slink back into the night and act like none of this ever happened—it’s not like she’d hold it against him; they’re rotten kids, the both of them, and she wouldn’t expect him to be invested in her situation right now any more than he’d expect her to be invested in a similar one of his.

    But he can’t keep the strain in her voice from echoing through his head, and an uncomfortable feeling tightens in his chest, and something about that feeling has him moving towards the Bargain Castle and, invested or not, reaching to scale the wall the same way he’s done at least a couple hundred times before, hunger completely forgotten. He’s already here and he’s already caught, he justifies, so this may as well happen.

    He’s swinging himself up over the parapet of her balcony with practiced ease in no time, and he tries his absolute hardest to not look as uncomfortable as he feels when he proceeds to lean back against the cool stone of the low wall. It’s quickly beginning to occur to him now that he’s up here that he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing here or what he thought he was going to do once he made his climb, and that he probably should have split when he had the chance.

    Mal’s facing away from him, her arms crossed as she looks out towards Auradon, and he can’t make out her expression in the dark as she takes noticeably unsteady breaths. Still though, he can tell she doesn’t have much intention of speaking first, which leaves this on him. He’s regretting a _lot_ right now.

        “Sooo...” he tries lamely, hoping with some amount of desperation that he’ll find the rest of his sentence along the way. But as he opens his mouth to say who in the hell knows what, Mal turns to look at him, and the words die in his throat as the light from her window hits half of her face.

    She’s not exactly crying—he’s pretty sure if he caught _Mal_ of all people _actually crying_ it would be, like, The End Times or something—but her face is slightly blotchy and red, all the more noticeable for how pale she is, and her eyes are red-rimmed and so full it looks like it’s taking every single ounce of her willpower to keep tears from spilling over. Which, honestly, is, like, world-shakingly, pants-shittingly terrifying once it sinks in, because Mal is possibly the most infuriatingly, _obstinately_ willful person he’s ever met, and if even her unending determination is _barely_ enough to hold the tears back then he doesn’t even know what the world’s coming to.

    Forgetting in his shock that he’s supposed to be indifferent and detached right now, Jay gapes as he pushes off from the parapet and takes a step towards her. “Jeez, Mal, what the hell was all that with your mom about?” If it’s bad enough to turn the Mal he knows into this, he’s not sure he really even wants to know, but apparently the rest of him isn’t on the same page as his mind on this, because he can’t stop himself from asking.

        “The usual,” she tries to scoff as she turns away from the light again, but the sound is… off. Not right. And Jay can’t help the skeptical quirk to his eyebrow, because _the usual_ absolutely does _not_ result in this.

        “Yeah, so, I guess that’s why you’re—”

        “I mean,” Mal cuts him off, not even letting him finish expressing his doubt, “she’s always said I’m not evil enough to live up to her name, that’s not new, so, whatever.” (Her tone really doesn’t sound very convincing on the ‘whatever’ front.) “And it’s not like this is the first time she’s told me she thinks I’m turning out weak and soft, so, you know, I’m used to that.” (Except it’s never affected her like this before.) “And, I mean, I’ve always known she finds me a huge disappointment, because it’s not like she’s above reminding me at every turn that at my age she was out raging hell and the worst I’ve managed is graffiti and to fuck up the one right thing I ever did with an act of kindness, so I know that, I _have_ known that, it’s _fine._ ” (It absolutely does not sound fine.)

    Jay keeps his eyes trained on her face even though he can’t make it out in the darkness, working his jaw as he tries to piece together what exactly has Mal in this state and—well, why he even cares. Not that he does care. It’s not like villains do that sort of thing.

    Even villains who couldn’t bring themselves to steal from their friends when it mattered. Even villains whose friends did selfless things to save each other. Those were just flukes, or whatever.

    Mal uncrosses her arms and lays her palms against the parapet again, Jay watching her every movement as she does. “It’s just time to grow the fuck up, I guess. I thought—I told myself, I mean, despite everything she said, her curse couldn’t hurt me. So that meant—I’d proven myself, even if I didn’t bring the scepter back. I just had to wait for her to see that I had.”

    He hears her catch a sharp breath that shouldn’t feel like it makes something clamp around his heart but it does, before she leans her head back and turns her gaze skyward. Her voice gets quiet and it shakes and the whole thing makes him uneasy. “Fuck, I was so stupid. Mom’s never going to see past my dad and she’s never going to see past what I did to get the scepter and she’s never going to see _me_ and it shouldn’t matter because _I know_ what touching the scepter proved but I just—I just thought—if I didn’t give up and I gave it some time—”

    Her voice catches suddenly as she whirls on him—he doesn’t remember closing this much distance, when the hell did he get so close to her?—and when the light catches her face he sees her eyes are wide both in alarm and accusation. Like she’d forgotten he was here, almost, and she’s blaming _him_ for the fact that she told him so much. And he’s… completely at a loss.

        “Mal,” he starts, because… because he can’t just say nothing. He doesn’t know what he can tell her, because Jay’s never been like Mal—he’s always been a realist and maybe a bit of a pessimist and he’s always known that they were never going to be enough for their _delusional_ parents and he’s made his peace with it. He can’t tell her she just needs more time for her mom to come around, because, sure, villain kids lie through their teeth about a lot of things, but not to make someone _feel better._

    He shakes his head. If lying will make her feel better right now, then he’ll just… have to tell the truth. “Whatever she said, it’s crap, and you know it.”

        “Yeah,” Mal scoffs doubtfully, her gaze tracking upwards and away from his face, and her eyes are less watery, if only barely. “ _Sure._ ”

        “I’m serious, Mal,” he insists, and if his tone is colored with annoyance, it’s only because he doesn’t _think_ she’s above this, he _knows_ it. Mal’s never given a shit what anyone else thinks. “You’re the scummiest person I know. And not by a little bit.”

    She opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, and he interrupts her with a pointed look. “You literally locked Evie in a closet full of _live bear traps_ because of a grudge from when you were _six._ You would have beat the shit out of _our principal_ if Evie hadn’t stopped you. You have people running scared at school and groveling at your feet on the streets, and if you told someone to jump off a cliff, they’d be too scared of you not to do it.” He barely feels like he’s exaggerating there. “You’re mean, Mal. You’re _awful._ You’re bad news, and everyone knows it. If your mom doesn’t think you’re every bit as vicious and evil as she is, it’s only because she’s never seen you in action. So fuck her, and fuck whatever she said to you.”

    And… that’s it. That’s his _big speech_. That’s all he’s got to say, it’s all he’s _going_ to say, and now it’s up to Mal to take it or leave it.

    He watches as her brow furrows and her mouth falls open like she’s going to say something, but then she falters, and her mouth snaps shut again. She works her jaw for a moment, staring at him with her eyebrows drawn low, before she finally seems to find any words at all. “Why…” Her voice fails her, and it’s another couple moments of her averting her gaze before she seems to be able to meet his eyes and try again.

        “Why are you being so...” She gestures vaguely as she trails off, because she can’t exactly finish the sentence with _‘nice.’_ That’d be about the worst thing to say to someone on this island, and aside from that, describing to someone in detail all the ways that they’re a shitty person isn’t exactly something you can describe as nice. Just another reason he never wants to live in Auradon, where the _goal_ is to be nice to everyone.

    Her hand falls back down to her side after her gesture, and she looks away, towards her room, her mouth drawing into a frown, and Jay finds himself coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that he probably has to answer. Why _is_ he doing any of this? Saying any of this?

        “Because...” His brow slowly furrows and he’s not sure where he’s going with this. He can’t say he cares, because he shouldn’t. Doesn’t, not really. Isle kids don’t care about each other. And she wouldn’t want to hear it if he did. But… he has to say something, and even if he’s not sure of the whole truth, he may as well not start lying now.

        “I mean, Mal, we’re still basically kids, and you’ve already got everyone our age and half the people older than us wrapped around your finger and scrambling to stay out of your way and doing whatever it takes to avoid having you pissed at them. It’s obvious you’re gonna be running this joint some day, just as ruthlessly as your mom does.” She’s still looking away from him, so he lifts a hand to her shoulder—just to make her look at him, that’s all—and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he continues, “And I’m smart enough to know I should be on your good side when that happens.”

    Mal stares at him, her expression hard and her lips pressed together tightly, and he meets her gaze because he doesn’t really have that much choice; he’s already gotten himself into this mess. Her eyes trace over his face like she’s searching for something, but he has no idea what it is, and he has no idea why some part of him is actually kind of terrified she might find it, whatever it might be. It’s all he can do to hold onto his flippant, self-satisfied expression instead of squirming under her gaze.

    Finally, though, Mal’s shoulders slump and her expression softens before it crumples into something that just looks resigned and tired. She crosses her arms and lets her head drop forwards until her forehead hits his chest with a muffled thump, and Jay blinks, honestly thrown as his smirk finally fades and something more confused takes over his expression.

    It becomes apparent after a moment or two that Mal’s… not moving any time soon, and his hand is still resting on her shoulder, and he’s not really sure why he does it, but after a brief internal debate he decidedly feels like he lost, he hesitantly slides his hand around to her back.

    And when she doesn’t pull away or try to shrug him off, he wraps his other arm around her, too, trying to figure out why doing that feels more like wrapping his arms around a trenchcoat stuffed with venomous snakes than around his partner in crime. But vague terror or not, Mal barely moves, and she doesn’t seem to be particularly bothered by this, so… he tightens his arms around her with a fair amount of uncertainty, because this entire night has already been weird as hell, so this might as well happen, right?

    And he tries not to focus on the fact that them standing here like this with her forehead pressed to his chest and his hands resting on her back feels a lot like comforting her, because villain kids don’t comfort each other. Or on the fact that the uncomfortable tugging feeling in his chest as her hair tickles his chin feels a lot like empathizing, because villain kids don’t empathize with each other.

    The problem is, when he does force his focus away from those thoughts, there’s not a lot left to distract himself with. Just the fact that he can’t stop thinking about what it’d feel like if he pulled her even closer, and moved his hand up to thread through her hair, and tucked the side of his face against the top of her head, and—and he’s gotta stop.

    But that’s just his inner flirt thinking these things, right? It’s not like he actually wants to do any of that with _Mal._ He’s always gotten his kicks from stealing hearts, it’s practically a hobby, so really, he’d be thinking this kind of garbage with any girl if they were standing this close. It’s not because it’s Mal, and it’s not because he really wants to.

    Right? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic has a [pinboard,](https://www.pinterest.com/belladxne/sh-friends-can-break-your-heart-too/before-partners-in-crime/) if you're into that sort of thing.


	2. Chapter 2

    For how entirely furious she is at herself, Mal, honestly, could wring her own neck. It shouldn’t be like this— _she_ shouldn’t be like this. She shouldn’t be so wretchedly, _embarrassingly_ pitiful, burying her face in Jay’s chest like—like she’s some pathetic, prissy _princess_ from Auradon who needs protection, or—she shudders to even think the word—comfort. She’s an Isle girl, through and through, the daughter of Maleficent (she tries to ignore the pang of heartache in her chest as she thinks of her mother, as she remembers their fight), and she’s _better_ than this.

    She doesn’t let things get to her. She can handle a few insults without being phased. She’s cold and harsh and unflinching like steel, and the moment Jay had come up here and caught her trying not to cry, he should have knocked some sense into her, he should have _laughed_ at her, he should have set her straight. And Jay is one of the only people on this island respectably black-hearted enough that she could have _trusted_ him to do it.

    So why had he let her lean on him like this? Why had he wrapped his arms around her? Why had _she_ let _him?_

    The only answer she can come up with is that they’re both idiots. And she still really, _really_ wants to wring her own neck for it.

    But everything is so heavy and so much right now, and she can’t get that spiteful, contemptuous look in her mother’s eyes out of the back of her mind. Jay hadn’t understood, not entirely, if only because she’d caught herself before really explaining. This isn’t just about what her mom said, the same things her mom has always said—this is about what Mal had seen in her mother’s eyes. She’s always seen that her mom doesn’t really care about her, even if it stings. She’s always seen that her mom resents her, even if it’s not her _fault_ that her mom let herself be close to her father. She’s always seen that her mom is disappointed in her, even if she tries so hard to do what she can with what she has.

    This is the first time she’s ever seen malice in her mother’s eyes that was meant for no one but her. This is the first time she’s seen that her mom _hates_ her, hates that Mal can’t live up to her expectations, hates all the time she’s wasted on a child who will only ever shame her name.

    And it’s the worst, most sickening feeling Mal’s ever felt. Of all the awful things she’s expected from her mother, Mal never really expected to be _hated._

    And Jay’s presence while she struggles and wrestles with this is… grounding. Somehow, just being near to him is helping her focus on anything but the ache in her heart, the nauseating pit in her stomach, the crushing weight on her shoulders. And something about the feeling of his hands resting uncertainly on her back sparks an unfamiliar and only moderately unwanted feeling of warmth in her chest that winds its way around her heart like a balm. And—she can’t help it; she gives in.

    At least she can soothe herself with that feeling now and erase all memory of it from her mind later. With extreme prejudice.

    Her eyes still closed, she takes several deep breaths, trying to cast aside the barbed and venomous words of her mother, the loathing glint in the fairy’s eyes, trying instead to replay Jay’s words in her mind, to focus on the conviction on his face and in his voice as he’d spoken. He’d really _meant_ all that stuff, it was so obvious in everything about the way he’d said it, and Jay thinking she’s terrible may not be the same as her mother thinking it, but if she can just come to grips with the fact that her mom will never really see her, then maybe...  maybe for right now, it can be enough.

    He’s been by her side for years now, after all. He’s been with her through everything. For tonight, he can be enough.

    Her breathing finally feels like it’s completely steadied, and her eyes don’t sting as much as they did when Jay first came up here, and now that she’s finally calmed down, she feels a hell of a lot stupider about the position she’s put herself in. This night, she can sincerely say, has been the worst.

        “If you tell anyone about this,” she mumbles darkly, stiffening a little as she does, “I’m gonna kill you. Painfully. There will be blood.”

    And Jay just chuckles warmly, because he really has been by her side for years now, and he’s used to her idle threats. Heaving a sigh, she slowly begins to lift her head, wondering what the hell she can even say about what just happened between them, what dismissive comment she can use to explain it away, the way Isle kids always do when they do something that doesn’t seem quite heartless enough.

    But when she looks up at him, mouth already half-open for whatever bullshit lie she was about to come up with to reduce this whole weird embrace down into something lesser, she suddenly realizes that they are standing _very_ close, and there is _not_ a lot of distance between their faces. And her first instinct is to lean away, but her gaze catches on his and there’s something she can’t quite read in his eyes that makes her pause instead. There’s a long moment of silence while she tries to read him and he seems to have some sort of internal debate and—his eyes did _not_ just flick down towards her lips, did they?

    Mal finally looks away, her brow furrowing slightly as her eyes shift to the side and she tries to tell herself she’s just—seeing things, or misinterpreting things, or _anything_ to subdue the odd mix of vague panic and something unnamed that bubble up in her chest. She suddenly realizes she’s forgotten to breathe in the last few moments and becomes that much more convinced she’s done nothing but make an idiot of herself tonight as she slowly exhales, trying to pull herself together.

        “Jay, I… thanks,” she mumbles, even though villain kids aren’t supposed to be grateful, because she has to say _something_ to try and dispel this odd tension hanging in between them.

    When she chances a glance back up at him, he looks back at her appraisingly for only a moment or two before a small, crooked smile touches at the corners of his lips. She feels one of his hands move from its place at her back, and then he’s brushing a lock of her hair back from her face with a gentleness that shouldn’t exist on the isle, and that warm, soothing feeling from earlier is blossoming in her chest again as his hand lingers there, his fingers just slightly threaded into her hair.

    There’s a voice nagging at the back of her mind that she should have pulled away by now, that she should be thinking more clearly about what’s going on right now, that this entire situation is hurtling too quickly towards something she’s been trying to avoid for so long—but it’s hard to listen to that voice when she swears that her heartbeat’s getting louder; just barely enough to be noticeable, just barely enough to be distracting.

    This time, when his gaze darts back down to her lips for just a moment, it’s harder to try and tell herself it doesn’t mean what she thinks, and when his hand settles to cup her face, his fingers tangling further into her hair, she _knows_ she shouldn’t lean into the touch the way she does. She shouldn’t be letting any of this happen, because she’s never wanted anything like this with Jay or anyone else, and the whole reason she and Jay have been so close for so long is because Jay has never wanted anything like this with her, right?

    So even though Jay’s expression gets a little bolder like he’s just come to a decision, there’s no way he’s about to kiss her.

    And even though she feels something alarmingly like anticipation run through to her very fingertips as soon as she sees him start to lean towards her, there’s no way she’s about to let him…

    Right?

    Mal’s eyes fall shut as she tilts her head to meet his kiss, and suddenly her pulse is a deafening drumbeat in her ears as she tries not to admit that his lips, warm and gentle against hers, feel really, _really_ nice. She can’t believe she’s doing this, and for a moment she feels an entirely new spark of panic as it sinks in that she has no idea what she’s doing—really, she’s never even come close to kissing someone before.

    Then his thumb slowly traces over her cheek, and she can’t help it; she melts into him, trying to match him as best she can and let instinct take over as her arms loop around his neck, and she swears she feels the corner of his lips quirk into a smile even through the kiss as she does, which only draws her in more. His hand on her back slides just a little lower as he pulls her closer and her knees start to feel a little bit like jelly as she tangles one of her hands into his hair and wonders why, _why_ she’s spent almost sixteen years now trying to _avoid_ this kind of thing.

    Jay tilts his head to deepen the kiss, and she can’t help but sigh against his lips as the feeling in her chest curls even closer around her heart, until—

    —until suddenly she remembers what led them here, and with her mother’s words echoing in her head she finds herself going cold. Even with Jay’s arm wrapped tight around her waist, even with his fingers wound into her hair like he’s touching someone worthwhile, even with his lips, intoxicating against her own, threatening to rekindle the fire that’s been steadily building in the center of her chest since this kiss started, all she feels is ice cold.

_Weak. Softhearted. Insignificant._ It’s all she can hear, her mother’s voice—her mother _meaning_ it, _believing_ it, and Mal has done nothing but prove her right, done nothing but cave to her emotions. She feels a swell of revulsion and wrath begin to churn in her gut—at herself, at Jay, she doesn’t _know,_ but she can’t do this, she _can’t_ let her mother be right because she doesn’t know what it will do to her.

    She has to be vicious, and hardened, and vengeful. Like her mother.

_No_ —she’ll be stronger, more heartless, more notorious than Maleficent ever was. She _won’t_ have the same moment of weakness as her mother. _Can’t._

    Mal’s hands move to Jay’s shoulders, and she shoves him— _hard._ And, like that, whatever had come over them, whatever had been hanging in the almost nonexistent space between them, is broken, _gone,_ taking what was left of the soothing glow in her chest from earlier with it. And all that she’s left with as Jay stumbles back, looking dazed and panicked, is the return of the stinging feeling in her eyes from earlier, and outright all-encompassing rage, and under it all, inexplicably… hurt.

        “ _What the **hell,** Jay?_” she demands, her cracked voice half-hysterical and absolutely frigid. Jay looks almost frantic as he scrambles to process this abrupt change and form a response, but he doesn’t look like he has an explanation for himself any more than she does. Which is fine, because she’s too livid, too wounded to wait for him. “You think just because you come up here and I’m upset and freaking out that I just, what, need to be _kissed_ like some kind of helpless, weak _princess_ from one of our parents’ stupid fairytales? Just kiss me and that’s all I need and that’ll _fix everything,_ is that what you think of me?”

        “ _No,_ Mal, I—”

        “You think I’d want to kiss _you?_ ” she spits, her glare vicious and full of caustic spite.

        “I didn’t—it’s not—” He cuts himself off when her words actually hit, she sees him falter in his fumble for the right words the moment what she said really registers, but she doesn’t give him time to react. There’s a new voice in the back of her mind now, warning her she’s already bordering on too far, too cruel, and it just spurs her on.

    Is she being too brutal, being too relentless? Is she hurting him? Good. She _can’t_ afford to be soft. Can’t afford to let her mother be right.

        “You think because my mother was weak one time and let herself fall for a pathetic, powerless human that I’d want to do the same?” She’s fuming now, stepping back from him, her fingernails digging into her palms so hard she feels the sting. “ _Well, I don’t need you._ I don’t need you to kiss me. I’m _better_ than that—than you.”

    If he looks like he’s been struck, it’s only in the sense that it’s just made him pissed. He doesn’t reel; his face doesn’t flash with hurt, with anything else—it just hardens, turns stony and impassive. Because Jay’s not like her, he doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve like she has tonight. He’s what a villain kid should be, and while she’s here hurting over her mom and hurting over him and struggling pathetically to keep herself from crying, he closes off. Like an Isle kid should.

    He scoffs quietly, and the sound is hard. “Sure. Message received,” he says, voice all eerie calm and steely anger. And he falls back just a step before he turns, and with one more harsh look thrown over his shoulder, he vaults back over her parapet, disappearing from sight.

    She’s breathing harder than she should be as she listens to the rattling sound of stolen trinkets fading into the night after Jay descends the Bargain Castle, and she knows not enough of it is from shouting, not enough of it is from fury—some of it, too much of it, is from trying to hold back tears once more.

    And she wishes it were only angry, bitter tears stinging at her eyes, but she knows there’s more to it, knows some of it is from the words of her mother, knows some of it is something else that she’s too scared to give a name to.

    Taking a shuddering breath to try and steady herself—it doesn’t work—she turns abruptly, away from the city below, away from her view of Auradon, away from the night Jay’s disappeared into, and she feels her hair whip about her face as she does. Her breathing is still shaky and unsteady as she pulls herself through her window once more, and when she thinks that maybe he hates her now, maybe he won’t forgive her for this, she thinks it with a sick sort of satisfaction. Good. Fine. He should. He shouldn’t think he can get away with things like tonight.

    And if he _is_ hurt, somewhere hidden behind his harsh exterior, then at least he’s got a taste of what _she’s_ feeling.

    And if there’s a jagged feeling in her chest, piercing and stinging and painful where her heart should be, she tells herself it doesn’t matter as she gets herself ready for bed in stiff, infuriated movements. And when she finally climbs under her covers, she swears to herself as though it makes anything better:

    She’ll be Maleficent, she’ll be worse—and if she breaks her own heart along the way, maybe that’s just for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, that's the extent of the finished stuff. there's another two chapters planned, but i couldn't tell you when they'll finally be written. maybe a few weeks from now, maybe a few months from now. sorry if you're hooked! you can check out the [pinboard](https://www.pinterest.com/belladxne/sh-friends-can-break-your-heart-too/the-fall-the-crash/) while you wait, if you like.
> 
> [12/24/2017 2:07:21 PM] kenn edy: i'm laughing at how he jingles when he leaves  
> [12/24/2017 2:10:21 PM] Miss Steal Yo Girl (ft. Yo Girl): lmfao listen... listen... I'm just going with what was established in the book  
> [12/24/2017 2:10:46 PM] Miss Steal Yo Girl (ft. Yo Girl): he comes to her house frequently and she knows him by the sound of jangling trinkets lmfao  
> [12/24/2017 2:12:29 PM] kenn edy: jingle jayngle


End file.
